Grow
by WizardsGirl
Summary: What it little Olive had lived? What would she be like? What would Bilbo be like? (An AU of my AU Green, a What-If Fic with too much fluff and BAMF Hobbits to keep quiet, enjoy!)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** An AU of my Green AU where I asked myself: What if Olive lived?

This is literally mostly fluff and adorably badass Hobbits, and its Olive/Ori. Since he has completely different life experiences in this AU, I don't think Bilbo and Dori would work out the same, but I was thinking that Bifur would (You'll see what I mean).

So, anyways, Enjoy!

 **Grow**

Once upon a time, in the rolling green hills of the Shire, there was a genteel Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins, who fell in love with a sweet Hobbitlass names Lilac Narrowfoot. The two had been young, both just out of their Tweens, and Bilbo had been of better standing, with his large Smial and the Baggins fortune and the treasure his mother (Green Lady bless her soul) had left behind from her many adventures. The two had courted quickly, eager to just get along with their marriage, and, even though they shook their heads at the impatience of young love, young Lilac's family finally agreed, but on one condition.

Bilbo and Lilac had to prove that their love was true and Grow a Faunt.

This was, at the time, seen as a sort of blanket permission. After all, it was unheard of for a Hobbit to _not_ be able to grow a Faunt! Even single Hobbits could, although it was heavily frowned upon, as a single Hobbit would need help to raise a babe, especially if their Family couldn't help, but it was still possible if their love and magic were strong enough.

But, as the pod grew in the Baggins Family Garden, beneath the same strong birch that had seen Bilbo himself grow, a realization had seemed to come to those who were keeping an eye on the young, soon-to-be parents. For you see, even as the pod grew, and the two seemed so entranced and eager to greet their young Faunt, young Lilac seemed to become more hesitant. More cautious. And, it was in the early days of Autumn, as the pod grew closer to curl open to present their Faunt, those older Hobbits who had been watching, noticed a… change, in the young lass.

Oh, it was clear that she still loved the growing Faunt, still poured that love into the good earth to see the babe come to blossom, but the love she had declared for young Bilbo, the attention and joy and care, had swiftly began to decline as the Blossoming Day grew closer. Poor young Bilbo, unfortunately, never seemed to realize, and was more than happy to talk with those who asked about both their Faunt and the future marriage, which he wished to have done the next Spring, as was tradition. Many a Hobbit shook their heads in sympathy and commented on the tunnel vision of love, sighing over how, no doubt, the lad's heart would be broken when he realized. But still, they agreed, it was good that young Lilac realized that she was not ready to be both a Wife and Mother _now_ , then a decade and however many babes from now.

Little Olive Baggins Blossoming Day was on one of the last warm days of Autumn, before the Frost of Winter was set to come. She had gained her fathers lovely curly, dark-blond hair and her mother's cinnamon freckles and eyes. And, a week after her Blossoming, Lilac Narrowfoot left her with her father to return to her own Family's Smials. For days afterward, Bilbo Baggins was seen wandering through the market, Faunt in his arms and a lost, hurt look on his face.

It took several years for Bilbo to stop staring longingly after Lilac whenever she came to pick up their daughter for a few weeks at a time. It wasn't until Lilac married Hondo Sackville-Baggins that he finally laid his unrequited love to rest. And, in that time, little Olive continued to grow.

As the years passed, there was many a Hobbit who commented on Olives looks, how she was growing into quite the looker with her curly, dark gold hair and cinnamon eyes, her dimpled smile and sleek, large feet. Her quick wit and sharp mind were also points of note. _How unfortunate_ , those same commenters would remark with shaking heads, _that she had taken far too much of the Took from her Da_. And, indeed, she had.

Sweet and kind as she was, Olive would rather go on adventures in the woods, searching for interesting plants and animals, than play tea party with the other young girls. She would rather wear trousers while out and about than dresses, often complaining about how they weighed her down, and what if she had to run from something, hmm? And, though they tried, no lad could catch her attention for long, not unless they were a Took or there to tell her about an adventure they'd had. Yes, little Olive was, despite her Baggins name, far more Took than her own Da had been, and many a Hobbit tutted and murmured.

Lilac tried her best to dissuade her daughter from such things. She insisted that Olive wear dresses and bows, that she sit in at Tea Time and work on her doilies and knitting, that she learned to make the specific types flower crowns and help care for Faunts. She insisted that Olive start considering her options for marriage, often remarking on whichever young 'respectable' Hobbit lad who would keep her in comfort and propriety (these usually being Proudfoot, Sackville-Baggins, and Cotton lads, all of whom had large Smials, large families, and no Took blood at all). Because of her nagging and pushing, however, Olive strove to be the opposite of what those lads would find 'comely'. For, as much as she loved her Mother, Olive loved her independence and freedom far more than her Mother's or her Family's opinion.

This was where young Bilbo shined in his daughter's life. For, Bilbo had been just as wild and adventurous and _Tookish_ as his daughter, when he'd been of her age. So, he knew, from experience, that chiding and scolding wouldn't work on her, not for long, and that the more he pushed for propriety, the less he'd receive. So, Bilbo didn't stop his daughter, instead he aided her. He dug out his Mother's dusty travelling gear and books, pulled his Father's studies and biographies of his Mother's adventures from the shelves, and pulled on his best Walking Holiday clothes. And he _taught_ her.

He showed her how to make a fishing trap out of reeds, how to gut and de-scale and cook them over flames. He told her which plants were for healing, for poison, for looks and for seasoning. He went with her into the woods, gave her sling and stone and whispered lessons as they hunted for rabbits and quails together. And, despite the chiding looks and mutters of their neighbors, strongly stood his ground against many a would-be suitor for Olive, and against their mothers and fathers who sought to set up an 'understanding'. No, Olive would choose who she married _when she was good and ready, and not a moment sooner,_ _ **thank you very much**_ _, Master Cotton!_

And, through the years, there were many things they learned _together_ , despite neither one of them setting foot further than Bree and Tookborough.

And, now mere months from her Majority, Olive was more than happy to rid her hands of her Mother's Smial to move into her Da's. For, while Bilbo had refused to allow any other to take permanent residency in his childhood Smial, she knew she would always be welcome, no matter her age or circumstance.

And so it was that Olive Baggins found herself alone in Bag-End, her Da off to the Late Market to buy enough food to make a proper celebration of her moving in. They'd had to call on a few of the local lads to move the larger dining table into the empty Party Hall (after giving it a good dusting and sweep, of course), and already she had managed to cover it with many a kind of food for their Dinner (Her Da insisted on taking care of Supper, after all, and they'd both decided a lighter Tea would be best). And, while she wasn't as good as her Mother at desserts, or as good as her Da at savory dishes, she was _far_ from inadequate.

There were thick lamb cutlets seasoned with parsley and rosemary, spicy and savory sausages as thick as two fingers and twice as long. Warm, thick bread cut and buttered, some seasoned with garlic, some with nutmeg, and still others with jam or honey or marmalade. There was a honey-glazed ham twice the size of her head (taken from a boar that had attacked Farmer Maggots dogs, poor things), stewed and broiled vegetables glazed in either vinegar or butter or light honey. There was a thick potato stew in a massive vat that would last them a good few days, even with a quarter of it set on the table. Large potatoes that had been roasted in the fire pit out back beneath a large side of beef that was so tender she had no doubt that there would be many a delicious sandwich to be had in the following day or so. Baked cauliflower smothered in thick cheese beside a bowl of mashed turnips and potatoes, seasoned with ground sausage and bacon.

Large, roasted heritage tomatoes rested beside fried cucumber and long kebabs of roasted potatoes, beef, sausage, and squash. A truly massive quartet of salmon, fire-cooked and stuffed with fried mushrooms and a brandy-sauce, took a large piece of table to themselves, with still more plates covered in halibut fillets seasoned with lemongrass, on a bed of mixed beans, corn, and peas. Six freshly plucked grouse had been left whole after baking and stuffed with their own gizzards fried with bell peppers, mushrooms, and baby corn. A dozen mutton-pies no larger than her palm fought for space alongside equally-sized rabbit pies, all around a large plate of roasted carrots so soft them melted in the mouth.

And, at the end of the table, her favorite part of Dinner (besides the dessert) was waiting: a fresh, hot roll of Black Pudding, with bowls of goat cheese that had been worked into a fine, soft spread.

Sighing, pleased even as she used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her face, Olive could only beam proudly at her work. They'd be eating various snacks and treats from the left-overs for _at least_ three days, but it was more than worth it when she got to control the kitchen for as long as she had today. After all, despite all her nagging and tutting, her Mother never tended to leave her alone in the kitchen long enough for Olive to spread her wings and try new seasonings and the like, especially not without finally declaring that 'she'd just do it, go sit down dear!'. Her Da liked to cook things _together_ , and that was always fun, but this was _her_ work and, besides, he'd gotten so flustered earlier that day, what with the Wandering Wizard coming by and getting him all upset with questions and back-handed comments, it was only right that Olive take over Dinner while her Da took his stroll through the Market.

It also gave her time to let her pies, cobblers, and cookies cool safely in the kitchen and away from little fingers (although she may have 'accidentally' left a few trays of 'mistake' treats on the sill for those hungry Faunts that 'just so happen' to wander past on their way home. She wasn't heartless, after all!).

She might have just enough time to make some custard before her Da got back and—

The sudden, heavy-sounding knock on the Smial door startled her, making her scramble to keep from dropping her 'kerchief even as she glanced at the nearest window, using the sun to check the time.

"It's almost Dinnertime," she murmured, brows furrowing as she trotted towards the door. "It must be important, then. Oh, I hope no one's hurt…" Quickly stuffing her 'kerchief into the pocket of her apron (wearing a dress willingly for once, a nice, deep orange with silver outlines of marigolds along the hems) before she pulled the door open.

"…Oh…" she breathed, eyes wide, as she looked up, and up, and _up_ , at the large, broad form of the, quite frankly, _intimidating_ Dwarf that stood on the welcome mat, his broad shoulders, covered in _armor_ and with two large weapons (Was that a _Warhammer_?! And an Axe?! Oh dear...) making the doorframe seem so utterly fragile that, for a moment, Olive felt the world almost tilt sideways. The Dwarf seemed, thankfully, just as stunned as she did, dark eyes widening as he glanced past her at the open door and back, blinking once and straightening, taking a step back so that she wouldn't have to crane her neck nearly so much, and clearing his throat awkwardly, bald head (covered in _tattoos_ , and Olive wanted to see if they were real or fake, like the time Phosphor Brandybuck had used a staining plant to dye his hair purple for a week when they were Faunts).

"Dwalin, at your Service, Miss," the Dwarf rumbled, dipping into a deep bow as he did, and Olive blinked twice before dipping into a curtesy.

"O-Olive Baggins, at yours, Mister Dwalin," she responded, straightening up as the Dwarf did so. "Um, my Da isn't in at the moment, if that's who you're looking for—he had to run down to the Market for more food. May I ask why you're here, sir?" If anything, the Dwarf's expression grew even more awkward.

"Tharkun, the Wizard that is, said that we would be fed and housed tonight at the burrow of the Hobbit who was to be our Burg… Ah, our _guest_ ," he amended quickly, blinking, "on our Quest. He said it was the one with a Rune on the door."

"Rune?" Olive asked, blinking and turning sharply to look at the door. "Oh dear," she mused, staring at the, rather pretty, glowing form that had been _scratched_ into the pretty green paint. "Da won't be happy, he just had that painted, oh dear," she mused, shaking her head with a hum. Now that she had a moment, had been distracted from the Dwarf's sudden arrival, the awkwardness he held was almost endearing. "Well, there's no choice, and let no one ever say a Baggins ever allowed a guest to go hungry, even unexpected ones! Come in, Mister Dwalin!" She cheerfully declared, offering him a bright, dimpled smile. "You're lucky that I cooked too much for the simple celebration my Da and I were going to have, there's more than enough for you to join us…" Dwalin hesitated, before grunting in agreement and cautiously following her inside, agreeably kicking off his massive boots (such queer things, boots. Most unbecoming and downright strange to see them up close for the first time.) He hesitated, before taking his Warhammer and Axe and carefully setting them in the empty chest that Olive pointed at after a quick glance around. It was usually for holding winter quilts for guests, but those were packed away in storage.

"Now, the food is all out and ready, if you'd like to start eating," Olive told him cheerfully, leading him to the Party Hall and feeling rather gratified when he sputtered, gaping at all the food. Poor Dwarf, no doubt he was only eating the standard three meals most non-Hobbit folk _somehow_ survived on, and, if he'd been travelling, perhaps even _less_ than that. Shaking her head a bit, Olive turned and offered him a bright grin.

"There's dessert for after, as well, if you'd like," she told him kindly as he blinked slowly at the food. "And you said 'we' when you spoke earlier, so does that mean you and the Wizard alone or are there more guests we should be expecting?"

"Twelve," he told her, voice slightly dazed as he swayed forward a bit, breathing in the smell of the food with such obvious relish that Olive found herself flushed a bit, pleased as a peach with his obvious enjoyment of her food before he'd even _tasted_ it. This Dwarf was doing _wonders_ for her confidence, truly! "There are, ah, twelve other Dwarrow that'll be makin' th'r way here, and soon," he continued, and Olive blinked rapidly, mouth dropping open again.

" _Twelve_?!" She yipped, clapping her hands to her mouth. "But, but! But there isn't! There won't be! Oh, Green Lady, I've got to make more food!" She squeaked, fluttering her hands about in dismay. "A Baggins _never_ lets their guests go hungry, Mister Dwalin, and I will _not_ be the first!" She declared, a determined moue coming to her face, cheeks puffing out a little bit. "And while I may not be the sort of cook that my Da is, I have no doubt that I shall be able to feed the lot of you, Da and self and stickybeaked Wizard and all!" She declared fiercely, hands falling to her hips as she nodded determinedly. "If you wouldn't mind, Mister Dwalin, I could use your assistance before you start eating," she added, turning to peer up at the Dwarf, who nodded cautiously, one thick brow raised (And goodness, despite his hairless scalp he was still hairy, thick beard and arms covered as well, even his _knuckles_!).

And, in moments, she had, with his help, managed to move several extra chairs into the Party Hall, as well as carried several more cooking pots from the second kitchen (usually only used when the Baggins or Tooks were about to host a Party or Festival) as well as more food from the Second Pantry. He was happy enough to also heave several kegs of Ale, Cider, and Brandy up from the cellar, as she carried three bottles of wine and another of the clear-colored Gamgee Gut-Rot that her Da didn't think she knew about.

And, as she left him to happily munch on an entire batch of nutmeg-pumpkin cookies as he watched the door for his Kin and Company, Olive rolled up her non-existent sleeves, shoved her dark gold hair into a messy, curly bun, and threw herself at the kitchen with the gleam of challenge in her cinnamon eyes.

A few hours later, the sound of a great many voices chattering in a strange language had settled into a pleasant background sound as she darted and stirred and kneaded until her whole _body_ felt as limp as an over-cooked string of asparagus. And, after she'd finished putting several batches of cookies, cakes, and pies into the oven to cook, Olive heard the startled cry of her Da as he finally returned to find their Smial invaded, and couldn't help her grin as she darted from the kitchen, spinning around a trio of jovially shoving Dwarves as she did so, laughing as she ducked under the arm of the gray-clad, unnaturally tall form of what had to be the Wizard, and threw herself, flour and stain covered as she was, into her sputtering father's arms as he stood, gaping, in the entryway beside what had to be the surliest (and prettiest) Dwarf she'd ever seen (and considering she'd only really met Dwalin, that was not hard to accomplish, though she had never been one to focus on Looks opposed to Heart, but still, she had _eyes_!)

"Da, Da!" She cheerfully called, giggling madly as he caught her despite his stunned state, green eyes wide as he glanced from her to the crowded madhouse of a Party Hall they'd found themselves with. "The Wizard told them we'd feed them and house them and Mister Dwalin has been most helpful and charming, but I don't think I should let you do Supper by yourself now," she told him happily, grinning up at him.

"Ah, well, that is to say," her Da sputtered, blinking rapidly, and Olive grinned even wider, giggling and nearly light-headed from the rush of trying to cook so much as quickly as she could. "…They've been polite, then?" He finally managed, almost plaintive, and Olive bobbed her head cheerfully.

"The one I spoke to was," she told him happily. "Mister Dwalin was just as surprised as I was when I opened the door, but don't be mad at the Dwarves, Da, Mister Gandalf told them you were expecting them, and I couldn't just kick them out with that sort of thing, now could I? Couldn't call myself a Baggins if I did," she sniffed, and, finally, Bilbo let out a stuttering breath, lifting a hand to press it to his heart with a sigh, shoulders slumping.

"No, no, I understand," he told her, patting the flour from her clothes absently after taking a step back. "You've done a wonderful job, sweetling, just, ah," he paused and sent the Wizard nearby a vicious stink-eye that was Pure Great-Grandmother Baggins. "Let me have a chat with the Stickybeak, will you?"

"Yes, Da," Olive agreed cheerfully, grinning, before turning bright eyes to the staring Dwarf (And oh, he had such Took-Blue eyes, too! Pity about his surliness, but, well, some Folk just don't have the strength of will at times to be happy). "Hello there, sir!" She greeted him as she stepped away from her Da, the older Hobbit already stalking over to grab the Wizard by his long, grey beard and drag him down the hall sputtering, her Da hissing like a scalded cat all the way. "Olive Baggins, at your service!" She told him with a curtsey; the Dwarf gave her a long stare, before dipping into a curt bow.

"Thorin Oakenshield, at yours," he told her stiffly; Olive clapped her hands together smartly with a nod.

"This way then, Mister Oakenshield," she urged, flicking her hands at him (a little rudely, but, well, she was a wee bit impatient to _finally_ lay eyes on these other Dwarves that were making shut a cheerful ruckus of her Da's Hall.) to get him moving. As soon as he entered, the whole room _roared_ in greeting, and more than one piece of food went flying as the Dwarves all swarmed Mister Oakenshield, herding him to a spare seat and chattering in their deep, growly Tongue. It made Olive think of stones and thunder and mountains, much like the Green Tongue brought to mind flowers and trees and spring rain, and Elvish brought the wind and sea and a soft fog drifting by. Common was, well, like grass and mud and a clear sky, she mused as she greeted Dwalin and the shorter Dwarf next to him he introduced as his brother, Balin.

"At your service, sir!" Olive chirped back as Balin kissed the back of her hand.

"Are you the one who cooked all of this delightful food, my dear?" Balin asked, gentle smile and eyes that matched his brother in dark coloring.

"Yes sir," she replied immediately, pleased as she cast a quick eye over the still full table, taking note of what was gone and what had barely been touched (mostly vegetables, she noted, but that was fine, she dearly wanted some for herself, after all).

"You are quite talented, then, my dear," Balin complimented. "It's been a very long time since we've had a meal both so delicious _and_ filling, right, Brother?" he asked; Dwalin bobbed his head, tacking a deep gulp of ale before he responded.

"Oh, aye, Brother," he agreed easily. "An' ye said that there'd be more after, aye, Lass?" Olive, despite feeling rather flattered at the compliments (which were very high by Hobbit standards indeed, these Dwarves really _were_ doing wonders for her confidence in the kitchen, that was sure!), was rather amused to note a distinct flush to the massive Dwarf's cheekbones that had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with drink.

"Aye, Mister Dwalin, Mister Balin, there will be dessert later," she told them, beaming at Balin. "And much thanks for the compliments! It's not often I get to cook, so I took great pleasure in doing so for you and yours tonight." Balin waved away her thanks before he was distracted by Mister Oakenshield and Olive found herself slipping away to refill mugs and be introduced to each Dwarf as she passed (although she got rather flustered as she found herself admiring Mister Bombur's hearty appetite, and, were it not for the off-hand mention of him being married, and also her own mothers age in equivalency, she would have found herself flirting a bit. As it was, after making sure he was able to reach all that he wished, and his mug was full, she wandered away with a wistful sigh.).

By the time her Da had finished scolding the Wizard, Olive had finally been shuffled into a seat by a rather polite, if gruff, Mister Bifur (who had rather worried her, with the axe sticking from his forehead, but once she ascertained whether it pained him or not, she simply treated him like Uncle Reebo, something that seemed to endear her to the friendly, badger-colored Dwarf.) With a plate of food and a cup of cider at her elbow, Olive was happily eating her own Dinner, pleased to find a good bit of Black Pudding left for her as she did.

"The food for Supper is away," her Da told her with a sigh as he finished being introduced to the Dwarves to take his seat next to her, looking rather frazzled as he eyed the cheerful lot around them. "We'll at least have them well-fed for their venture, even if I've told that Stickybeak again and again that I'll not be going, wherever it is," he groused, huffing as he cut into his food. "Is there lemongrass in this?" he asked, surprised as he bit into the halibut.

"Yes," Olive told him cheerfully, watching with fascination as the star-haired Dwarf she learned was Mister Nori manage to somehow tie the two young brothers (Fílí and Kílí she was told) with a string of sausages that she _knew_ had been hanging in the second pantry…

"It's very good," he complimented idly as he ate, and Olive beamed as she ate as well, the two of them settling comfortably as the Dwarves continued to dash and hoot and roar at one another.

It was, all together, a wonderful night in the usually quiet Smial, if Olive did say so.

 **A/N:** There we go, some Ori interaction next chapter (I gave Dwalin the spotlight because he's adorable fight me). In this, Bilbo is 55 instead of the Canon 50, so that Olive will be of age (33). Her birthday is _on_ Durin's Day, btw.

The lemongrass & halibut is a recipe I love, only with tilapia instead of halibut (I'll have to try it though...) and the mixed vegetables its on is the Sante Fe Mixed Veggies you can buy in the frozen foods section of the grocery store. They're reeeeeeally good, no lies!

 **Birch** \- New Beginnings

 **Lilac** \- Pride, Beauty

 **Olive** \- Peace

 **Marigolds** \- Affection, Trouble, Fate

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you to those who've read this so far! We get to see some Ori interaction this chapter, promise!

 **Grow**

Olive was _enthralled_. The Dwarves (" _Dwarrows_ , Lass," Mister Dwalin had corrected. "More'n a single Dwarf is called Dwarrows." He'd then promptly belched loud enough to wake the Wights, she swore, to the hilarity of his fellows) were so _different_ than even the outlandish Tooks she so adored (Pity they were all her Cousins, or she'd have been looking there for her future spouse. Oh well, there was always the Brandybucks!). They were loud and crude and then her Da had asked them not to fiddle with the knives and they _sang_ , and she hadn't laughed that hard since Gladiolas Bracegirdle went feet over tea kettle in a dress and ended up face-first in ox manure a season ago! And Mister Bifur, sweet that he was, had cleaned all of the Dinner dishes _by himself_ , after the rest of the Company had played a riveting (and terrifying) game of catch with her Grandma's best West Farthing china dishes.

As a result, she'd not had much to do as the group had gathered once more around the table, her Da and Mister Gandalf (the Wizard) placing lit candles about. Mister Bifur was sat on her right, munching on a bowl of squash blossoms she'd left in the kitchen. She happily accepted one whenever he offered, nibbling the petals as she listened to Mister Oakenshield and the Company talk of their Quest. On her left, the half-deaf Healer Óin was trying to listen, squinting at the others suspiciously as if he thought they were mocking him. Olive watched her Da eye the map and Mister Gandalf pull a key from his pocket and frowned.

"Mister Gandalf?" She called, interrupting him mid-sentence but still getting the Wizards attention. "If Mister Oakenshield's Da gave you that, and he has been long past now… Why are you only brining it to Mister Oakenshield _now_?" Gandalf huffed as said Dwarf turned a sharp stare to him as well, fingers clutching the key, and right he was to do so. If Olive, Green Lady forbid, lost her own Da and, years later, some old Man came by and _just so happened_ to have the only key to, say, Bag-End on him, why, she'd be furious and suspicious as well! Who _knows_ what the Wizard could have been doing with it!

"I will have you know, Olive Baggins, that a Wizards Business is never done, and leads them often to far reaches and Dark places," he declared, tone of voice both affronted and scolding, a tone she was well used to hearing from various Aunts and Uncles by now. "But a Wizard _always_ turns up _right_ where he is meant to be and when!" Olive hummed and eyed him pointedly, before just as pointedly turning to accept yet another squash blossom from Mister Bifur with a murmured thank you.

Watching them all, Olive couldn't help but empathize with their plight. Her Da had told her of the Fell Winter, of the cold and wolves and starvation. Hundreds of Hobbits made homeless in a few weeks, and again once the snow melted and swelled the rivers. Families left desolate and heartbroken and weeping, burying parents and children and siblings alike once the ground was thawed enough. And here were these Dwarrow, so fierce and fun and strong, homeless and forced to live off others, and three of them _Royalty_ , who, like Great-Grandpa Took, bore upon their shoulders the knowledge of those deaths and losses and griefs…

When Gandalf lost his temper and bellowed that her Da was a Burglar because he deemed it so and why, and they pulled the Contract up, Olive spoke before her Da could refuse.

"Da," she called, quiet and soft, and he looked to her immediately, just as the Dwarrow did. "The Fell Winter, Da." Instantly, he flinched, alarm melting from his face into sympathy and understanding and regret.

"This is no horde of wolves and goblins, Olive," he told her, aching, and Olive leaned forward beseechingly.

"But you were a _Bounder_ , Da," she told him, just as aching, just as soft, ignoring the curious, confused Dwarrow. "You saw what the Fell did, what the Flood later did. Saw it first hand, know the pain it caused to our Neighbors. And you're right," she told him softly, holding his gaze. "The Dragon is no winter, no Flood or Wolf or slow starvation. But it is still Desolation. And, while we Hobbits may not Wander anymore, we still Remember. _You_ still Remember, Da." Her Da swallowed and looked away. Grief and fear and empathy warring on his face, before he finally turned away.

"I have too many responsibilities, Olive," he said, voice tight and hoarse and so very regretful. "I cannot go haring off across all of Arda for the sake of others." Olive frowned, staring at his back, before taking a deep breath. Oh, she hated to do this, _hated_ it, but…

"May I see the Contract, Mister Balin," she called quietly as her Da stepped away, watching him freeze and shooting a sharp glance at Mister Oakenshield as the white-haired Dwarf reluctantly slid it over.

"It's, ah, the usual things," Mister Balin informed her, eyes darting between his Liege and her Da. "Food costs, funeral arrangements, the usual things." Olive bobbed her head absently and began to carefully, thoroughly look it over. Her Uncle Fortinbras was the Thain, after all, and he'd have her head if she even _held_ a considered Contract without reading it thoroughly.

"Absolutely not," Her Da stated, voice tight and hard from where he'd turned around, lips thin and expression strained with fear. "You will _absolutely_ _ **not**_ sign that Contract, Olive Baggins, do you understand me?" Olive hummed quietly.

"Of course not," she replied absently, brows furrowing as she read, not even noticing her Da's shoulders loosening. "And you won't either. Green Lady Bless, but this is a _horrible_ Contract!" She declared, looking up to frown at Mister Balin. "Did you even _read_ some of this, Da?!" She demanded, huffing. "' _Burglar holds harmless and without blames_ _ **in perpetuity**_ _the Company and its successors for any notoriety, incarceration, or proceedings brought against, in regard to, or as a result of the adventure or any activities related thereto. Also includes slander, libel, loss of face or of social standing in country of Burglar's origin_ '?! That basically means you could be arrested for breaking into the mountain in the first place, once you're released!" She cried, speed-reading through the Contract, mystified and offended as she did so.

"' _No recompense for loss of income due to any extended absence applies. Burglar is 'at the service' of Thorin and Company until released therefrom._ ' So you could, in technicality, be their Contracted Burglar until old age gets you!"

"' _All conditions imposed herein are deemed to survive loss or destruction of this document, whether by accidental or willful mishap, and any reconstruction, rewording, updating or improvements or additions made_ '? Oh, so the Contract could just be _edited_ , and whoever signed would have to deal with it? I think not!"

"' _Remedies shall similarly not be sought for any unlooked-for misfortune befalling Burglar's home during his absence._ ' Oh, look, if you lose _your home_ helping them get _theirs_ , it's tough luck, boyo, off you get!"

Well and truly incensed, Olive stood up and smacked the paper down, scowling furiously around the table. She hadn't even gotten _halfway through_ the farce of a Contract and she was already steaming like a well-tended hearth.

"I want _just one of you_ to raise your hand if you would have signed this," she declared fiercely, glaring. Empathetic to their plight as she was, she _would not let this stand_. None of the Dwarrow met her gaze, and she jerked her head in an angry nod. "That's what I thought. Now, I can understand parts of this, you were, after all, told you'd be hiring a Burglar and I've heard more than one tale of the greed and immorality of thieves of Men and other races, but, you _cannot_ expect me to let this stand!" Turning with a huff, she scowled and jabbed a finger at Mister Balin. "Sir, you and I, and whomever you so choose to assist, will be _discussing this_. A new Contract will need to written, a _Proper Contract_ , and only _then_ will _anyone_ be signing!"

"Aye, Lass," The Dwarf agreed, looking both flustered but also pleased. Then, he chortled, smiling at the frowning Hobbit. "You've a fine mind, there, Miss Baggins. Quick as any blade, and twice as sharp, no doubt!" He chuckled, and the other Dwarrows all seemed to relax again, chortling and teasing one another, the hatted Mister Bofur winking at her with a bright grin.

"Maybe we should jus' point ye at Smaug, Lass!" He teased, grinning as a flush that had nothing to do with temper and everything to do with embarrassment began to make her ears glow cherry-bright. "Mahal, I've not heard a dressin' down 'at stern since me own Ma caught me 'n Bom' dippin' our sleepin' Uncle's braids in honey as wee Dwarflings!" More hoots of laughter and jeering, and Olive resisted the urge to huff, flustered as her Da had been upon returning.

"Yes, well," she coughed a bit, clearing her throat and avoiding eye contact. "Uncle Fortinbras would have had my head if I'd even _considered_ signing that bit of… Writing." Eying said writing with a disdainful sniff, she none-the-less rolled it up neatly and gestured at Mister Balin. "This way, please. We can use the study."

"Now wait one moment!" Her Da finally sputtered, having spent the last few moment just opening and closing his mouth a bit, ears twitching in agitation and eyes wide with distress. "You will have no part of this, this _Quest_ , Olive, you understand me?!" He demanded, darting around the table, awkwardly squeezing past Mister Gandalf as he did so, completely ignoring the irritated glare Mister Oakenshield shot him. Olive frowned at her Da as she slipped around Mister Bifur, absently patting the badger-colored Dwarf as he scooted his chair in uncomfortably tight so she could do so comfortably.

"Da," she said, quiet but firm as the two Hobbits stopped, standing close but still well within earshot of the chattering Company, Mister Balin standing politely to the side with one of the younger Dwarrows, Ori, she believed. "Da, I understand your position. I understand your fears, worries, responsibilities, and situation. But, Da," she said quietly, leaning forward to hold his gaze imploringly. " _What if it was us_."

"But it's _not_!" He cried, setting his hands on her shoulders, worry and fear bright in his eyes. "Olive, love, I _know_ your heart is already in this, but I _cannot_ and _will not_ let you go along with this madness!" Olive frowned, reaching forward and curling her fingers around one of his suspenders, resting the other, occupied hand against his opposite shoulder.

"You told me once," she told him softly, "that the Fell Winter was the thing of Nightmares made real. That you helped bury more than one Faunt, some in too many pieces to find them all, torn apart by wolves." He flinched, something haunted and horrible flashing through his eyes, even as his fingers tightened against her shoulders. "And you told me that, had you the ability, you would make sure that the Shire would _never_ see that level of Loss again," she reminded him, leaning forward so that their forehead pressed against one another, staring unblinkingly into his green eyes. "These Dwarrow have _felt that Loss_ , Da. And, like you, they've sworn to rail _against it happening again_. I could not call myself your Daughter, either Baggins or Took or Narrowfoot, if I did not do _at least that much_." They fell silent, staring and just breathing, until clutching hands turned to hard embrace and they hid their faces in one anothers necks instead.

"…When did you get so wise, my flower?" her Da whispered; Olive smiled weakly, feeling almost shaky from the sudden changes of emotions in so short a time.

"I learned from this silly old Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins," she whispered back, earning a chocked chortle. After a few moments, they pulled away from one another, both damp-eyed and tiredly smiling. And he Da turned towards the waiting Mister Balin with a half-smile and a gesture.

"This way, Master Balin," he urged, leading the three of them towards the Study. "If we are going to go over this Contract, we should start now, before its time for Supper!"

" _More_ food?!" Ori squeaked, and Olive couldn't help but giggle, a little watery but clear.

"Aye, Mister Ori," she agreed teasingly, flashing him a dimpled smile as she did. "More food."

 **(Line Break)**

Ori found himself at a bit of a loss. He was just so overwhelmed with everything, with so much happening around him. The Shire was nothing like Ered Luin, it was so _green_ , and there were so many plants and hardly a stone in sight outside of the occasional garden wall (even the _roads_ were dirt!). And, though nearly Dwarf-sized themselves, the Hobbits were so different as well! Barefooted, beardless, and brightly colored, it was like something out of a Dwarflings storybook. It was, it was like tale of the Lost Miner his Amad had told him as a little Dwarf. Like he'd been living and working in a Dead Mine for so long that, the second he dug his way into a vein of rubies, the whole _world_ changed color.

And then there was the Baggins Family.

Mister Baggins was a nice, if high-strung fellow. He was kind and polite and treated Ori well enough, even though he'd fretted over things that Ori knew didn't need fretting (but then again, he'd heard from Mister Dwalin that he'd not been told they were coming, so that lent a level of leniency towards his reactions). He wore brown trousers with gold colored suspenders and a pale green shirt. He'd had a bright blue vest and dark red waistcoat on as well, before he'd sat next to his daughter to eat. He was like a butterfly, fluttering about and flashing two sides of bright color whenever his wings moved, and often Ori saw him drag his hands through his short (why was it so short?) deep gold curls in frustration.

Speaking of those curls, he shared them with his daughter. Miss Baggins was sweet and bright and quick to grin, tumbling curls pinned up in a loose, careless bun with the sort of confidence that stunned Ori. Even the Women he had occasionally seen during Trading Times had their hair neatly tucked and folded beneath shawls and scarves, or, when loose, neatly combed and away. But, Miss Baggins didn't seem to care a whit about that. Her hair, obviously well cared for, was just shoved and tied back, perfunctory, but made to keep it from her eyes and face so she could work.

And, indeed, it looked like she didn't care what they'd think of her, confident in herself in a way that was admirable. She was dressed in a burnt orange dress, like citrine and copper combined, with silver silhouettes of flowers sewed in, and Ori had caught his brother eying them and fingering his own tunic more than once during dinner. She still wore the apron she'd had while cooking, dusted liberally with flour and various foodstuffs, her fingers thusly stained, and a smudge of flour on her cheek. It brought out the dusting of freckles on her cheeks and across her nose, and her eyes as they glittered brighter, the color of chatoyant quartz in firelight of the study, a small hearth stoked to warm the room turning her dark gold curls to a shadowy mass, bringing out faint sheens of ruby and sard.

Those same eyes had flashed, bright and appropriate as fire agate when she'd read the original Contract. Her soothing voice turned sharp, like the changing phases of worked mithril, and her eloquence and poise when dealing with both it and her Father… Her empathy, sympathy, and strength of both heart and character… Her _understanding_ of the situation and how all parties felt, and how she could put into words that understanding and her own feelings on the matter…!

As he swiftly and neatly wrote out the new Contract, signing his name as both Scribe and Witness, Ori prayed to Mahal that the redness of his ears and face was hidden by both beard and firelight.

Judging by Mister Balin's knowing look and small smirk, he was not so lucky.

 **(Line Break)**

Deeply satisfied with the new Contract, which bore her Da's signature as 'Burglar' just above her own as Witness and Apprentice, Olive was more than happy to follow her Da to the kitchen, humming happily as the two of them began to work on Supper. Tea Time had, unfortunately, slipped past with the only treats being some of the leftover cookies, a few small tea cakes, and whatever the Dwarrows had managed to get into their mugs (although she'd nearly giggled herself sick when Mister Nori and Mister Bofur both decided to try the Gamgee Gut-Rot and promptly started gagging and sputtering, far drunker with a single gulp than they'd been after eight ales apiece.). Humming random bits of tunes as she began pulling moist, baked chicken apart for sandwich making and her Da tested the readiness of the breaded porkchops, Olive let her mind wander.

While he hadn't spoken much to her, she'd noted that Ori (who was, she discovered, the youngest Company member (beside her) and had reached his Majority just two months previously. He was also the Company Scribe, having earned his Trade Certificate on his birthday, which had been the earliest point he could take the exams, and was actually a bit of a prodigy where the Dwarrows were concerned because of it.) seemed rather sweet, if rather shy, but, with the way she'd noted his eldest brother fussed, she could see why. Fussing too much over Faunts, she knew, made them awkward Tweens, so she didn't doubt that something similar happened with Dwarrows.

Absently, she moved around the kitchen, smiling a little as her Da muttered under his breath about things they'd need to do before they left in the morning, mostly about the fact that they'd need to use as many of the perishables as possible here and for breakfast, and pack as many of the non-perishables for the trip as well.

"Don't forget your sling and stones when we leave, Olive," he told her as he slid past her with the remainder of the Potato Soup, which he'd happily added more cheese, ham, and even tiny bites of broccoli to, so it was practically a new soup. Olive honestly didn't think the Dwarrows would notice, not with how hungry they seemed (and, truly, was it any wonder, when non-Hobbits insisted that three meals was all they needed? …Oh, dear, she's going to have to get used to what amounted to Tea Time meals for the entire venture, wasn't she? Oh, botheration!)

"Yes, Da," she replied. "And I'll bring extra 'kerchiefs as well, no worries." He muttered in agreement, already lost in thoughts and plans again, and Olive returned her focus to mixing together the filling for several filling meat pies, these ones all larger than the mutton and rabbits ones of Dinner. Chicken, beef, sausage, and a few mixed-meats, with finely diced onions, thinly sliced mushrooms, baby carrots cut into fourths, and peas, in the thick, fluffy crust that her Grandma Narrowfoot had taught her last summer for the Pie Festival.

Humming happily, Olive pushed thoughts of shy Dwarrows, dangerous adventures, and silly Da's out of her mind. She had food to focus on, after all, and no Man, Dwarf, Elf, Dragon, or Wizard could get between a Hobbit and their cooking!

…At least, not without some damage done to them, of course.

 **A/N:** Shorter than last chapter, but hey, Ori POV! And Ori is already falling hard and fast (But he's a precious sheltered wee bab so what do you expect?) and Olive would probably have noticed him more had they been alone or she'd been less distracted, but she still noticed!

Also, I opened the Contract in a PDF so I could quote some lines and, much like Olive, I got barely through the first half before becoming ridiculously offended on Bilbos behalf. You have NO IDEA, guys, serious, no, check it out yourself, it is _infuriating_.

Anyways, don't forget to review, and I'll probably update the next chapter of Green before the next one of this fic, so there's a heads up!


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